


i like the sound of the broken pieces

by orphan_account



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Broken Bones, Minor Violence, Other, POV Second Person, Pre-Canon, Rape Aftermath, Verbal Humiliation, a Very Bad fic, when flowey had control of the resets
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-22
Updated: 2016-04-04
Packaged: 2018-05-15 07:23:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5776756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"This time, you can attack how you want to. All you have to do to get him riled up is say something about hurting his brother- it’s so <em>easy</em>, and it’s wonderful, and it’s not like fighting him at the end because this time he still has a little bit of hope left in him. You’re gonna have so much fun snuffing it out."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> 'i love this skeleton' i say as i write this horrible bad bad trash that i hate myself for
> 
> please do look at the warnings tho

 

It’s an experiment, see.

Something to do to pass the time, because you’re bored, you’re so so bored because you’ve done almost everything too many times for it to be enjoyable anymore.

You know what will happen if you leave only Undyne alive, how she’ll scream at you and fight before you squeeze her to dust. You know what will happen if you leave only Alphys- she’ll cower, she created you and it’s her fault you’re trapped like this, and she knows it and she’ll cower like the coward she is.

You know what will happen if you leave only M— Toriel, how she’ll be so sad for you, this little lost child, and the look on her face when you hint to her that it’s you, it’s her long lost dusted son right before she becomes dust herself (you don’t leave her till the end again).

Asgore is easy. ‘Pity our king,’ and all that. Part of you wonders if he lets you kill him. You don’t care. It’s never very satisfying anyways.

You don’t know how you feel about Papyrus, though, that stupid naïve skeleton. He ‘befriends’ you every time, he tells you about his boring days and asks how you’re doing- it’s so repetitive. You rough him up a bit sometimes and accidentally take it too far and end up killing him sometimes. Once, you killed him in front of his trash brother.

When you leave sweet little Papyrus alive till the end, he won’t fight you until you laugh about all his dead friends and show him his brother’s dust, until you’ve mocked and edged him on and refused all his offers of mercy- and the skeleton can _fight_ , to say the least. Getting Papyrus angry and broken enough to fight you is an adrenaline rush (you think; you haven’t felt one in a long time, because you’re empty, soulless, but you think that’s what tearing the guy apart feels like).

When you kill sweet little Papyrus, sometimes his trash brother comes after you. sans. You don’t know how to feel about him either. He’s powerful, just like his brother, but he’s far less forgiving. He’s caused you more than your fair share of resets, and you think he might vaguely remember some of them.

You think he’s one of your favorites to leave. There are so many little pieces of him to figure out, like a weird little puzzle with an annoying smile plastered on it. And you can draw out so many emotions, when everything’s said and done- anger and crushing heartbreak for his sweet little dead brother. It’s admirable, in a way- he’s always there, when you leave him alive, and he always fights.

You break his spirit sometimes, but you’ve never been able to break his soul.

You want to.

You really really want to.

So you decide to experiment a bit. You know how to hurt people; you have it down to an art. You know how to destroy, and how to crush, and how to render someone hopeless. But how to break? You think you know how to do that too.

You think you know, and there’s no time like the present to find out- you have all the time in the world, and you can do whatever you want with it.

And what you want right now involves sans the trashbag skeleton trapped and alone, and so that’s exactly what you get.

It’s part of the experiment: he remembers you, vaguely, remembers that you’re a threat, so he doesn’t bother with the befriending thing his brother likes so much. Which is fine by you, because you don’t have to laugh and play the cute little flower this time.

This time, you can attack how you want to. All you have to do to get him riled up is say something about hurting his brother- it’s so _easy_ , and it’s wonderful, and it’s not like fighting him at the end because this time he still has a little bit of hope left in him. You’re gonna have so much fun snuffing it out.

Even this first part is fun, blocking his attacks and watching him just _barely_ dodge yours— but when his gaster blasters show up to join the party, you decide you’ve had enough of this. Before he has a chance to fire, a few of your poised roots close in on him, twisting up his arms and around his neck.

You hoist him up off the ground and shake him enough to throw off his focus, and then crush his stupid blasters back into nothing.

You shake him again, just to hear the sound of his bones rattling- jangling like a broken marionette. Hah.

He grasps at the vine around his neck and raises his hand to summon another attack, but you beat him to the punch, tightening your hold with a light:

“Hey, now. Wouldn’t do that if I were you, mister _1-HP.”_

And that makes him pause, his other hand clawing at the vine when you squeeze even tighter and you wonder why a skeleton would need air if he doesn’t have lungs. Maybe he doesn’t really _need_ it- maybe you’ll figure that out some other time, wait it out and see whether or not he crumbles to dust because of something as silly as lack of oxygen, but that’s not what you’re here for, right now.

(His neck bone is so stupidly fragile under your touch though; you never realized how amazing it is that these things even stay together. Magic for you, you suppose.)

A few more seconds of letting him thrash around like an idiot before you drop him, enjoying the sounds of bone hitting the ground hard and him gasping for air. And then he’s all wrapped up again- he can barely struggle while he’s recovering- arms twisted tight behind his back.

“How’ve you been lately, sans?” you ask amiably, “You interrupted me earlier, which was sorta rude of you.”

He just glares back, eyes shifting this way and that for a moment like he’s checking for something.

“No one’s there,” you want to say— you do say, “It’s just me and you out here, buddy!”

“What do you want?” he asks finally and _that’s_ the question you want to hear.

“I want to try something.” You reply, “See, you’ve always interested me, sans- when you’re there at the end, you always fight.” You see something cross his face- a little bit of shock, maybe? Sudden understanding?

“And I’ve always wanted to know how you do it. I don’t know how or why, but you at least sort of know about the way this world works, don’t you?”

He looks suspicious, before, “you mean… resets, or something? starting over?”

“Exactly!” you say happily- his eyes narrow further and you wonder vaguely how they do that, if his sockets are bone, “I wanna know how you keep going. Why do you keep fighting, over and over? I’m just gonna keep coming back, y’know.”

He looks away now, like you aren’t even worth answering- and that’s _fine,_ because you’re gonna get your answer soon enough anyway. Maybe he’ll stop fighting. Maybe he’ll fight even harder.

“Anyway,” you continue, “like I said, I wanna try something.” This draws his attention back to you, and so do the vines curling around his body, one coming up to wrap loosely around his neck again, just as a little reminder.

“wha-?” he sounds vaguely confused, and you almost laugh out loud at the bewildered look on his face when one snags on the collar of his shirt. “what the hell?”

You do your best imitation of a shrug, “I wanna see if you’re really all that tough, I guess.”

“untangle me and i’ll fight you right now,” he shoots back, shifting in his bonds.

You giggle, “Not _that_ kind of tough, idiot.”

Before he has a chance to respond, you yank him backwards, throwing off what little balance he regained and pinning him into the snow. You wonder how a skeleton can convey so much subtle emotion- you see confusion and annoyance and a tiny little bit of fear on his face when one of your vines slithers under his shirt.

You draw up to nearly your full height to loom over him. He looks up at you- the prodding at his spine coupled with the grin you give him finally clicks in that dense little skull of his.

“get off,” he demands, trying to be intimidating or something as you manage to get his jacket off, “get the _hell_ off of me.”

You laugh because really, what power does he think he has here? “Nah.”

He really is just all bone, you find out when you hike his shirt up his ribcage. You want to find out just how far you can bend one before it snaps off, but it’s hard to do that when the trashbag keeps writhing around, trying to break free.

“stop it, don’t touch me, stop it” he repeats.

You sigh.

Annoying.

You yank him up for a moment, before twisting him around and slamming him face-first into a tree.

“Be quiet, already,” you say, bark digging into is face, arms still twisted behind his back.

You don’t want to hear what his stupid mouth has to say to that, so you slip a vine down the back of his shorts before he can say anything. He tries to jerk away from your touch as you prod at the place where his spine meets his pelvis, twist through all those weird holes, tug his shorts down to his knees.

But he’s still _struggling_ , muttering profanities at you under his breath, so you twist a thinner vine around his lowest left rib and _squeeze_ without warning. It snaps almost too easily, and sans cries out- that’s the first time you’ve ever heard that and you want to hear it again- his single pathetic HP dropping the tiniest bit, but you heal him right back up because you can _do_ that.

He’s panting, sweating a little (out of fear or effort, you can’t tell- maybe a bit of both), looking at you with wide eyes.

“That sounded like it hurt a little,” you remark happily, deciding to just rip the stupid shirt off all together, “Let me just…”

The sound of another rib snapping rings through the empty forest along with the whimper (the _whimper_ , you’re _amazed_ ) that follows.

You heal him again. Crack another rib. Heal. Crack. Heal.

 _“stop_ ,” his voice cracks as his bone strains with actual _tears_ gathering in his eyes, and you decide that as much fun as it is, maybe you could keep doing this, over and over and over again, another day.

You lean in close to his face and rub along the edge of his eye socket (the other one is pressed up painfully against the tree trunk), and wonder what would happen if you stuck a root in there. He seems to be wondering the same thing, because he shuts his eye tightly.

You giggle, because his eyes shoot right back open when a vine traces along his tailbone, and there’s a quick, sharp:

“don’t you _dare_ , don’t you—“

before you shove it through, thick and forceful and he _yells_ this time, _finally,_ before grinding his teeth together and that won’t do— you pull it out and thrust back in again, bringing the vine around his neck down to twist around his spine, curling over the vertebrae and the fact that you could pull them apart, crack his spine and watch him crumble to dust with a single movement is exhilarating.

“I could _break_ you.” you say, almost in awe, “I could tear you to pieces. I could drag you to your house and make your brother _watch_.” you grin at the panic that crosses sans’s face, “What do you think he’d do? He already knows you’re weak- he tells me how he ‘worries’ about you- but if he saw you like this? He’d think you’re _pathetic_ , overpowered by a _flower._ ”

“N-no, don’t, he—“

“He’d be too ashamed to look at you. But I’d make him look- I’d make him watch me screw you into the floor just so he could finally realize what a useless piece of trash you are.”

“Sh-shut up,”

“Or what? You’ll blast me?” you tighten the grip on his crooked spine ever so slightly, feeling the bone just a few squeezes away from splitting in two. sans falls silent. “That’s what I thought.”

You continue, in and out and all over his bones, exploring every part of his weak weak body- he’s trying to force it back, but his face is wet with tears at this point, eyebrows drawn up in pain, and you decide it suits him. Humiliation, pain, fear, hatred- that mix of emotion, it suits him really well.

You want to reset and do this over and over again, but you also don’t want to spoil the novelty of it all.

It’s over far too soon for your taste- he’s fastened his eyes shut and grit his teeth and tried to block it all out, but then there’s a weird spark of magic and a shudder that ripples through his bones, and he slumps against the tree trunk, exhausted.

You smile and retract, leaving him to fall into a heap on the ground, nearly shaking.

“That was interesting,” you say, “I’ll have to try that again sometime.”

You get no response. You frown, but brush it off. He’s probably pretty tired and all that. You don’t care.

“Well, see you around, sans.” You give a little wave he doesn’t acknowledge, and sink into the ground.

You don’t really leave though, not yet.

You want to see what happens afterwards, so you settle in the shadow of the trees a few yards away, and wait.

It takes a very long time for anything to actually happen.

He lies there for a while. For a long while, curled up in the snow. You wonder if skeletons can actually feel the cold.

Eventually, he pulls himself upright and leans heavily against the tree, and just stays there for a while too.

You want to see him cry again or something. He does wipe at his face a bit to get the splinters of bark out of his skull, but he doesn’t cry.

In the end though, it’s worth the wait, because watching sans pick up each piece of his torn up shirt and his dirty shorts and his ripped jacket with shaking hands and pull them back on with the delicacy of someone one wrong move away from falling apart is almost as satisfying as the act itself.

Watching him stumble around looking for his slippers makes you want to find them yourself and toss them away and have him go find them again.

Watching him trudge through the snow with half a shirt and one slipper (he never found the other one, the idiot) and cracks running up the side of his skull makes you want to laugh out loud.

Watching his brother intercept him halfway out of the woods with a worried borderline-panicked look on his face and a steady stream of “Where have you been?” and “What happened?” and “Brother? Are you okay?”, and watching sans pull in on himself and struggle with things to say is _fantastic_ , but watching Papyrus wrap him up in his arms even though he doesn’t really understand what happened because sans isn’t saying anything and lift him up and start the trek back to Snowdin leaves a nasty taste in your mouth and an empty-ish feeling in the place where your non-existent soul might be.

(No one ever did that for _you_ \- for Asriel, maybe, years and years ago, but never for you- and you were all alone for a really long time. You _ruined_ that trashbag and he still has more than you, more than he deserves. A part of you wishes you’d yanked him apart, just to see the look on Papyrus’s face when you showed him brother’s dust again.)

(Oh well, you shrug. There’s always next time.) 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Papyrus has a talk with a friend. It doesn't end happily.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here I am making things longer than I have to. I made a two chaptered fic into a ?? chaptered fic bc there's so much I want to do with it all of the sudden??
> 
> Anyways, dialogue isn't one of my strengths, and papyrus is eternally pure and kind

 

 

Normally, you wouldn’t mind the snow all that much. It was one of your favorite things about living in Snowdin, after all, and you had been very very excited about it when you had first moved here. No, you loved the snow, but there had been another snowfall not too long ago, and all that fresh snow was way too deep and way too difficult to walk through. 

And normally, you’d be fine with making your way through it like a crude sort of maze, if you didn’t have to be anywhere. But right now you do have somewhere to be, and kind of urgently, at that. 

_Normally,_ you would be patrolling the woods right now, right in the middle of your shift, and normally, your brother would probably be sleeping at one of his stations (you know he doesn’t usually take ‘breaks’ until he takes a nap, and right now is one of his favorite times of the day for napping). But right now, you are walking through the woods to find your friend, and right now your brother is probably at home. You don’t know if he’s sleeping. 

For once, you hope he is. A bit of sleep could do him some good, right now. A lot of sleep could do him a lot of good. Something happened to your brother. You don’t know what, and you don’t know if he’s actually slept since you got home yesterday.

The first thing sans had done when you got home yesterday was take a bath- a really, really long one, with the door locked. 

Actually, the first thing sans had done when you got home yesterday was refuse to answer any of your panicked questions. Maybe not refuse, exactly, maybe more like he was unable to answer your questions, like he couldn’t form the words he wanted to say and sort of like he didn’t want to say anything, and all you were able to get out of him was an ‘I’m tired’ and something about a flower. After a bit of that one-sided interrogation, he’d murmured something about needing to wash up and, despite your concerned protests, trudged his way upstairs carefully. 

There had been a part of you that wanted to carry him up the stairs yourself, a part of you that didn’t want to let him out of your sight— and for good reason! He was a mess. One slipper, a torn shirt and dirty shorts and a ripped jacket and a slight limp and worrying cracks up one side of his skull like something rough had been dragged against it- and that was just what you could see. 

You don’t know what happened out in the woods, but you know it scares you- terrifies you- because you know it was bad, and you know that someone hurt him. You know that someone hurt your brother.

And that’s why you’re here, trudging through the snow to see your friend. sans had said something about a flower, and he hadn’t been in Waterfall so he probably wasn’t talking about echo flowers, and the only other flower nearby you could think of was Flowey. 

Normally, you wouldn’t be so quick to jump to conclusions, but right now your brother is at home, hurting, and this is the only lead you have.

Maybe he had seen something. Maybe he knows what happened. 

You find him soon enough, in your usual chatting spot. He always seems to know when you’ll be there, and he’s always waiting for you with a welcoming smile on his face. 

Today is no different.

“Hey there, friend!” he greets happily, and you sit down and cross your legs in front of him.

“Hello, Flowey!” you return.

“How’ve you been lately, buddy?” he studies your expression for a moment, “Is everything okay? You seem kind of down.”

“Ah, well…” you hesitate; you hate to be the bearer of bad news, “I’m afraid I’m not here for one of our usual talks.”

“Hm?” Flowey tilts his head and furrows his little flowery eyebrows together.

You clear your throat. “You see… something happened to my brother, recently. Something bad.”

Flowey’s eyes widen in something that looks like it should be concern, but for some reason doesn’t fully hit the mark, “Oh no, that’s terrible! What happened?”

“I… I don’t know. That’s why I’m here. I tried to talk about it with him last night, but he wouldn’t tell me what happened. He… wasn’t in the best shape, and I- I don’t know who else to go to. He… he said something about a flower, so…”

“So you think I might know something?” he sounds surprisingly calm.

“Yeah.”

“Well, I… okay, I didn’t want to say anything ‘cause I was afraid you might get mad, but—“

“You know what happened?” (And normally, you wouldn’t interrupt your friend, but now is not normally.)

Flowey nods somberly, “Yeah… I saw the whole thing. It was horrible. I think he was crying.”

Panic. Something like terrified anger. “O-Oh my god, w-what happened— did you see who it was?”

“Yeah,” he gestures with his leaves, so you lean forwards; he looks around conspiratorially before looking you straight in the eye and whispering: “It was me.”

You blink uncomprehendingly, “What?”

“It was me.”

“…What do you mean?”

“I _mean,_ it was me.” Flowey says again, “I’m the one who hurt your brother.”

“But… what?” you speak slowly, “You’re… you wouldn’t do something like that- you’re a _flower_ , and you’re my friend, right?”

Something dark and ugly crosses his face for a moment before it morphs into another smile- meaner this time, condescending.

“I’m _your_ friend,” he agrees, “But I’m not his friend. He’s _really_ annoying, y’know? I don’t know why you still stick around with him.” He laughs, “Though for someone with only 1 HP, he sure can fight!”

Something like terror shoots through you at your friend’s - your friend’s??- words, because there’s no way he could know about your brother’s stats unless he… unless…

You shake your head, “Th-this isn’t a good joke, Flowey, I—“

“A joke? I’m not your trash bag brother, I don’t make jokes unless they’re hilarious.” his grin stretches wider, “He _is_ kind of a joke, though. When it comes down to it, he’s all talk with barely anything to show. It was almost too easy to get him defenseless. Too easy to pin him down and do _whatever_ I wanted to him. He was pretty good at taking what I gave him, too.”

“What did… I don’t understand- why would you—“

“Why? ‘Cause I was bored!” he says happily, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, like he’s talking about playing a game instead of hurting your brother, “I can tell you what happened, if you want. I can tell you every little detail. I can tell you how it felt to snap his ribs. How I finally made him cry. How he struggled and struggled until he couldn’t anymore.”

He gets closer with every horrible word; you shrink back further with every horrible word.

“I can tell you how he begged for me to stop, how he called out for you: ‘ _Papyrus, Papyrus, please help, please!_ ’ He thought you were gonna come rescue him, but _you never came_.” his grin twists into something menacing and terrible. “Not until the end, not until I tore through him and _screwed_ your brother into a tree.”

(And you think you know vaguely what that means, that it’s something two monsters can do when they love each other- a very intimate and personal something. And Flowey does not love your brother and he hurt him he did it by force and that’s not something that should happen, not to anyone, not to your brother, and- and-)

“It was _fantastic.”_

You can’t get your thoughts together long enough to say anything, and he raises his eyebrows.

“If that’s not enough, you could go get him and I could _show_ you what happened instead.”

“No!” you blurt out frantically, “No, I… I have to go.”

Flowey just smiles again, like this is the end of one of your normal, friendly conversations, and gives a little wave with his leaf, “Tell Sans I hope he feels better soon!”

Normally, you would wave too and thank him and tell him goodbye, but this time, you walk quickly down the hill and you don’t look back. 

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You’ve seen sans in so many different ways. You’ve seen him at his best and at his worst, you’ve been his best friend and his worst enemy. You’ve seen him smiling with actual light in his sockets and you’ve seen him holding back tears, hands shaking in fury and grief, but you’ve never seen him like this."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wowie wow wow it's sure been a while, I just love procrastinating?? (and then I show up with a ridiculously short chapter ahah)
> 
> Anyways, general warnings for flowey being an asshole and references to noncon- and violent-ish thoughts? bc I mean it's flowey
> 
> Thanks for being patient with me and for all the comments!

 

The days aren’t as tedious when you have something exciting to think about. 

And you? You haven’t been this excited in a long time. You haven’t been this satisfied, this curious, in a long time. 

(You haven’t felt this powerful in a long time.)

(You have all the power in this world, but you hardly ever get to use it for anything worthwhile anymore.)

(Hah. You never thought you’d call the Trashbag worthwhile. A worthwhile distraction, maybe. A game.)

You haven’t been _not bored_ in a long time. It’s exciting. And now that you aren’t bored, you can’t really keep yourself away. (What else would you do, anyways? Nothing.)

So you hang around the skeleton brothers’ house for a few days, just outside, close enough that you can peer through the first floor windows if you want to. You haven’t talked to Papyrus since your little confession a few days ago, but you weren’t really expecting to. And you certainly haven’t heard from sans. 

You don’t think anyone’s heard from him, really. He hasn’t come out of the house in the days you’ve been watching— and by default, sweet little Papyrus hasn’t left very often either, doing whatever the hell he calls ‘taking care’ of his trashbag brother. (That mainly consists of asking him to _‘please come and eat something, please talk to me, are you feeling sick? maybe you should see a doctor,_ ’ and Trashbag giving half-assed excuses and dodging questions. You don’t think Papyrus has told him about your little conversation. You aren’t sure why, but you don’t really care. Just some more entertaining secrets.)

The important part is: what you did, it fucked him up— literally, you think with a sneer. 

And boy, if you could feel genuine satisfaction, you’re sure you’d be ecstatic about it. 

And… a part of you sort of wants to do it again? It was… nice isn’t the right word, not by a long shot. Interesting, maybe. _New._ The first new thing you’ve done in a while. And it’s like- it’s like you’ve opened up this whole new realm of possibilities.

What if you reset and did it again? What if you did it again _without_ reseting? What if you actually followed through with your threat from before? Now that sweet little Papyrus knows what happened, what would he do? He’d looked so horrified when you told him, so how horrified would he be actually watching it happen? 

You want to know. You want to know so bad. You really wanna see sans cry again too. 

And you’re so tempted— you’re so tempted to curl your way up the side of their revolting little house, through his window and into his room in the middle of the night, maybe. You didn’t really get to explore as much as you wanted to— could you pull his ribs apart without breaking them? How far could you bend his spine back before it snapped? How much could you shove through his pelvic bone before that cracked too? 

Skeletons were so _breakable_ in so many different, easy ways. And with his one pathetic HP— well, it was a miracle the skeleton had survived this long. Maybe it would have been merciful to let him fall apart with cracked ribs and a cracked dignity back in the forest; he could probably turn to dust tripping down the stairs. 

You huff a laugh at that. 

And out in the snow, with the supposed nighttime settling in the air, you decide that maybe paying the Trashbag a visit wouldn’t be too bad. 

(You want to drag this out and watch him fall apart in a new and exciting way. And what better way to do that than put him under pressure?)

So you curl your way up the side of their revolting little house (and crush a few of those dumb christmas lights on the way up). You twist your way through his window (he really should know to lock it by now) and into his room. 

For a moment, you aren’t sure if he’s even there or not. 

And then you scan the dark room and vaguely make out a lump on the pathetic excuse for a bed. A mattress on the floor? You could do better than that— and you don’t even have a bed. You don’t need one. You don’t know if you even need to sleep, really, but you do it anyways, because you want to, even if there’s no point. You do whatever you want, and that’s the way it should be.

The lump is curled up under his sheets, all twisted up and trying to hide from whatever the hell he thinks he needs to hide from (from you, from you, a vicious sort of satisfaction), but he’s not asleep. You can tell, because there’s a very distinct snore-ish sound he makes every once in a while when he sleeps. Annoying. 

You take a moment to settle yourself, curling your roots into the corners of the room as leverage. You want him to know you could destroy him right now if you wanted to. 

You pause to take in the moment, and then, in your best Innocent Friendly Stupid Flower voice, you say: “Hey there, buddy!”

His reaction is instantaneous— sitting up so quickly you’re almost impressed, a breathless sort of gasp, eye flickering, stuttering, painting the room a light shade of blue, like a flame. 

You smile. 

He doesn’t smile back. 

He doesn’t say anything, to your surprise. For a moment there’s no sound but his heavy breathing, like he’s still panting from some stupid nightmare, and he seems frozen. One arm is held in front of him protectively, like he could actually do anything is you decided to attack. You want to laugh again at that. 

“How’ve you been, Trashbag?” you giggle, inching forward, and the way he flinches back fills you with something like satisfaction. “You weren’t lookin’ so hot the last time I saw you.”

His breath stutters, and he finally speaks— a weak, pathetic, _hate filled_ voice.

“What d’you want?” 

You revel in that hate, and shrug as best you can with your leaves. 

“I just wanted to check in one you. Thought I might’ve been a _little_ too rough with you.” his eyes narrow in vague disgust, “Thought I might be a little softer this time.”

You see his hand tighten around the sheet he’s still holding. You can practically feel his nonexistent heart skip a beat. 

“No.” he says, hard and defensive— and god, that _hatred._ (And that fear. You can hear that too, you can see that too, and it’s wonderful.)

You’re hovering over the edge of his bed now, and he’s backed up further and further. You smile, wide and sharp, and he looks close to either lashing out or hiding under his sheets again. 

You’ve seen sans in so many different ways. You’ve seen him at his best and at his worst, you’ve been his best friend and his worst enemy. You’ve seen him smiling with actual light in his sockets and you’ve seen him holding back tears, hands shaking in fury and grief, but you’ve never seen him like this. 

He’s been furious with you, he’s hated you, despised you, he’s fought you with everything he has with angry tears and humorless smiles, but you don’t think he’s ever been this afraid of you. 

You’ve ruined him, and he knows it. 

You look him up and down, pretending to consider.

“I dunno,” you say, “I kinda wanna try some new things out. The other day felt a little rushed.” 

He’s so tense you think he might break his own bones. 

“Y’know… maybe we should call Papyrus in here. I haven’t talked to him in _days._ ” you’re close enough that you can see his eyelights shake in their sockets, “…I want him to watch.” 

“ _No,_ ” he says, “No, no, you can’t, get out,” he pleads. “You can’t, I’ll— I’ll kill you, I swear to god,” he threatens. 

You lean forward slowly, deliberately.

“I can do whatever I want to. If I want to fuck you,” you bring a vine up to rub his cheek, almost tenderly; his hand twitches, like he wants to blast you to pieces, “I can do it. If I want your brother to _watch_ me fuck you, I’ll do that too. I can destroy you. I can destroy him.”

And he looks _so scared,_ terrified, and _angry_ and hateful and weak, a fantastic bundle of emotions all wrapped up in his pathetic, shaking frame. You wonder what it feels like to have all those emotions suffocating you, and you’re glad you can’t.

“But y’know?” you draw back, “Now that I’m thinkin’ about it… I’m not really in the mood.” 

You don't know what the look on his face is now. It’s not relief. 

He doesn’t speak. Just shakes. Shivers, cold air drifting in through the open window. 

You sigh disappointedly, “Maybe some other time.” 

And you mean it this time. You want to so badly, but you’ll wait for now. You want to see him crack, you want to see him constantly looking over his shoulder, you want to see him paranoid. 

“Until then,” you give a little wave of your leaf, “I’ll be watching. See you around, Trashbag.” 

You duck out of his window, and leave him alone and cold in his cold lonely room. 

You should have done this ages ago, you think to yourself.

If he manages to fall asleep at all, you hope he has nightmares. 

 

 


End file.
